


some kind of sign

by elisela



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Feral Derek Hale, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: Lauren gave me a prompt--“love arrives safely with suitcase in tow, carrying with her the good things we know — a reason to live and a reason to grow, to trust and to hold and to care”--and this happened.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	some kind of sign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spinningincircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/gifts).



> Lauren gave me a prompt--“love arrives safely with suitcase in tow, carrying with her the good things we know — a reason to live and a reason to grow, to trust and to hold and to care”--and this happened.

The air is cold. It’s a harsh freeze; he can feel in his bones that snow is coming, the type that will extend past the snow line and stick, making the mountains harder to traverse. He pushes himself to run faster, down into the cover of trees, away from the fading light of the sun.

There’s a part of him that thinks _home_ at times, when he sees the red of the berries on the evergreen trees, hears the mechanical hitch of an engine from the highway when he strays too close, the smell of chocolate on wrappers that drop near hiking trails. And this, a forgotten name spoken so faintly it may well be a memory—

 _Derek_.

He stops running.

There is no stillness in the mountains. Everything has a sound: the snow settling onto the branches of the trees, the whisper of wind through leaves, the slow heartbeats of hibernating black bears and the rapid thrum of the peregrine falcon that flies overhead. It’s long since faded to background noise, a hum in the back of his mind that he can ignore like the press of _other_ that he sometimes has—

—laughter, the sound of feet on the forest floor,

—a hand on his hip and the feeling of weightlessness in a body that’s not his, chemical smell as harsh in his nose as the breathing in his ear,

—gunpowder and ash, pain, pain,

—bright lights and joy that bleeds through sweat, high pitched shrieking and the roar of a crowd,

—the otherness that he has ignored as winters have passed by, slipping more and more into nature.

He finds them in the morning. 

He stays away from the trail, far into the tree line; the snow kicks up powder around his paws and he feels the urge to drop and play, to leap at the boy who smells like sorrow and tumble with him down the mountainside again and again and again. 

He follows them for three days, slipping ahead to scout the way, keeping the path clear for them before doubling back to follow, watching. It’s not difficult to track them—they make noise, their boots crunching on snow and heavy packs shifting as they walk, words flowing freely as their voices rise and fall. 

_Derek_. 

_Derek_. 

He knew them, once. They’re familiar to him, both of them, they smell of the redwoods of his youth, of things he knows but can no longer name. The longer he watches them, the more the memories come. 

The boy talks to him after nightfall, sitting at the edge of fire’s glow. He stays far enough that he can’t be seen, close enough to scare the predators that lurk in these mountains, listening. The boy’s words trail off into whispers that he can’t understand, words he knows but can’t remember, can’t access.

 _Derek_.

He creeps closer every time the boy says his name, heart stutter-stepping with apprehension and grief.

In the morning they argue, the girl angry and afraid. He watches them, listens to their heartbeats get louder, their voices get harsher; when she grabs the boy’s arm, he growls. 

They stop, and the boy breathes out his name. 

They go back down the mountain. He follows them, closer this time, wills himself to understand the words, tries to let the _other_ grow. 

_Derek_.

He can hear the highway the next time they sleep. He stays just outside the camp, watching. The girl stands up first, like always, but—

 _He’s not here_ , the girl says, leaning over the boy. Her lips press against his forehead as her voice carries, heavy with sadness. _Stiles. I’m so sorry_.

The boy stays. 

_Derek._

_Derek._

He dreams, that night, of Stiles—of death and anger and sadness, of loyalty and safety, of comfort, an anchor. Sleep comes in fits; he wakes with a start, listening to a heartbeat that his body responds to before his mind, drifts back off with it strong in his ears. He moves closer each time, and when the sun breaks over the mountain peak behind him, he steps into the clearing and tries to remember what it was like to be human.

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr](https://elisela.tumblr.com/post/637998980818763776/love-arrives-safely-with-suitcase-in-tow).


End file.
